


No Pretence

by j_gabrielle



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Angst, Cuddles, Drugged!Ilya, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Post Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4616376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filled for the prompt: Illya is captured by enemies and injected with some kind of truth serum. Gaby and Napoleon rescue him before he can be made to reveal anything crucial, but then have to ride the effects of the serum out with their normally taciturn Russian suddenly being very eager to tell them what he's thinking and feeling. Maybe that's what gets the OT3 together, or maybe they're already fucking but Illya's been denying the depth of his feelings for one or both of them.</p><p>http://kinkfromuncle.dreamwidth.org/640.html?thread=36736#cmt36736</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Pretence

**Author's Note:**

> Originally filled here: http://kinkfromuncle.dreamwidth.org/640.html?thread=71808#cmt71808

"I don't understand." Ilya slurs. Napoleon props him up against the headboard, resting on the mount of pillows they pulled from the rest of the suite.   
  
They had barely managed to snatch him back from the jaws of their latest assignment gone wrong. Poor Peril is all dosed up with chemicals of the truth divining kind.   
  
Glancing down at the other man, Napoleon smiles somewhat wistfully. The man has been unusually tactile in the last hour or two. An effect of the chemicals, no doubt. Napoleon thinks that he will miss that most once this little ride is over.  
  
That, and the way Ilya looked in the bath they gave him the moment they got back to the hotel. 'Like a drowned kitten.' Napoleon thinks to himself, quietly cooing.  
  
"What don't you understand?" Napoleon asks cajolingly. He turns to fetch his book when he feels a strong grip on his wrist. Ilya's eyes are too bright in the late afternoon dim of their room.   
  
"Why don't you love me?" And it is at the second last word that Ilya's voice breaks, choking on a half sob. "I don't understand. Am I not good enough? Am I... Is it because you love Gaby more?" Ilya's Adams Apple bobbing. "I love her too. But I... I love you. I love you too, Napoleon Solo. You're my cowboy... Even though you don't-" The Russian's normally reserved composure crumples and he curls into himself, hands balled into fists and gritting on sounds of him withstanding an insurmountable wall of pain.  
  
Napoleon swallows, helpless, looking up to see Gaby coming in with a glass of water. She takes one look at Napoleon, and another at their lover, before sliding onto the bed, wrapping her small body around him. She whispers into his ear a string of murmured assurances. "Napoleon?" She says a lifetime later.  
  
He takes it as his cue to approach. Toeing off his shoes, he takes residence on Ilya's left side. Gently, he coaxes him to lean into him. "I do love you, Peril." Pressing the tenderest of kisses to the side of Ilya's head, he sighs. "I love you. I love you so much I can hardly bear it. I love you." Tilting his face, Napoleon brings his lips to Ilya's lips, slotting their mouths together.  
  
"I love you." He repeats like a chant, in between kisses. He rests his hand on the curve of Ilya's jaw, breathing in the clean scent of hotel soap and that unperfumed spice of Ilya's skin. "I love you so much, my darling."  
  
Napoleon pulls away, only to find himself being hauled back into another frenzy of kisses and caresses. Distantly, he is aware of Gaby smiling.   
  
"Enjoying the show?" He asks a little breathlessly when he manages to pull away. Ilya snuggles into the crook of his nape. Gaby grins.   
  
"C'mon." She says simply, lifting the covers to slide underneath it. Taking their lover into her arms, Napoleon draws away.  
  
Napoleon shrugs off his shirt, shucking his pants. Together, they swaddle Ilya. The man is nodding off, quiet snuffles coming to signify his departure to Morpheus' shores.   
  
Pressing open mouthed kisses onto the line of Ilya's shoulder, Napoleon whispers, "I love you, Peril. I'm sorry you thought I didn't."  
  
Ilya turns his head to him then. Rearranging their bodies until Gaby is spooning Ilya from behind and Napoleon has his ridiculously soft hair tickling his chin, he hears Ilya murmur sleepily in Russian.  
  
Gaby's little laugh is infectious. Napoleon returns her smile and they fold into their little cocoon.


End file.
